


Slippery

by FayJay



Category: Good Omens
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-04
Updated: 2009-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:59:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayJay/pseuds/FayJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Crowley and Aziraphale eat sushi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slippery

"But it's raw."

Crowley sighed.

"Yes, it's raw. If it were cooked, it wouldn't be sushi."

Aziraphale shot him a doubtful look and peered back through the window to watch the besuited city workers valiantly battling with their chopsticks. As they looked in, a particularly inept young man tried to combine eating with telling an anecdote, and an unwise gesticulation sent something pink and white flying into his dining partner's cleavage. Crowley sniggered.

"Raw fish," repeated Aziraphale slowly and clearly, as if there were something fundamental about the notion that Crowley hadn't understood. Anyone would think that they hadn't both eaten far stranger things over the millennia. How Aziraphale could possibly be so bloody middle England when he wasn't even English in the first place was a source of ongoing bafflement to Crowley.

"Look, was I or was I not right about chocolate?"

Aziraphale blinked.

"Well - well, yes."

"Yes. 'That doesn't look very tasty,' I seem to remember you saying. 'Wouldn't catch me trying any of that.' And don't try to pretend you don't buy yourself a bag of Thornton's continental chocolates every second weekend, because we both know you do. So?" The angel had the grace to blush. "Don't you trust me?"

"You're a demon," pointed out Aziraphale unnecessarily. "I'm not supposed to trust you."

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Well -- well, it would be rather foolish, given the circumstances, to -- um. That is -- I suppose that in a sort of limited -- I mean, obviously we're on different -- well." He faltered to a halt in the face of Crowley's raised eyebrow and his face took on a sheepish expression. "Um. Yes. More or less."

"Good. So believe me when I tell you that you're going to like sushi. Who knows your tastes better than I do, angel? That lot up there? I don't think so. They wouldn't know Brahms from Beethoven, or Hersheys from Suchards. No. I know your tastes. And when I tell you that you're going to enjoy sushi, you damn well better believe me."

"Sorry," said Aziraphale in a small voice.

"It's not like I'm asking you to try eating it off a naked virgin," pointed out Crowley, rather enjoying his righteous indignation. The angel's eyes widened right on cue, and Crowley's mouth twitched ever so slightly.

"Gracious me! I should certainly hope not! How thoroughly unsanitary. Not to mention embarrassing and uncomfortable and -- dear me. What a dreadful suggestion."

Crowley considered, for the briefest of moments, telling Aziraphale that actually, some people did exactly that, and that it could be a thoroughly pleasurable experience for all concerned -- and, what's more, that this particular idea was one the humans had come up with all on their own, because Lust was one Deadly Sin that they'd all embraced pretty wholeheartedly, and combining it with Gluttony was remarkably popular, as any number of luxury icecream manufacturers could attest. But he wasn't stupid.

"Look, just give it a try, all right? I think you'll like it. You've used chopsticks before, haven't you?" Aziraphale fixed him with a prim little glance.

"Certainly. As you know perfectly well."

"Yes, well, but you've pretty much embraced all this business of wearing cardigans and listening to Radio Four and eating with a knife and fork. You could be rusty."

"Nonsense." Aziraphale drew himself up to his full height and thurst out his chin pugnaciously. Crowley bit back a laugh. "Fine. Let's go and jolly well eat some sushi right now."

* * * 

They didn't _need_ to eat, obviously, any more than Crowley's car needed petrol. Now, Crowley had been pretty taken with the idea of food right from the outset - as far as he was concerned, humans got a thoroughly good deal, what with all the senses and physical pleasures and all that, although they mostly took it all for granted. Once he'd been assigned to the place, he'd made a point of trying everything at least once, and most things many, many times, and this had included food. Aziraphale, on the other hand, had spent centuries upon centuries piously refraining from eating or drinking, lest they lead to gluttony. He had kept his interactions with mortals to a minimum and had certainly done nothing so vulgar or proletarian as carry money lest it lead to avarice; he had never indulged in a wink of sleep lest it lead to sloth; he kept no possessions lest they lead to envy; he avoided following any particular sports team lest it lead to anger; he avoided looking at his own reflection lest it lead to vanity; and he avoided looking at anyone else very hard lest it lead to lust.

At first.

Over the years, however, Aziraphale had gradually unbent. Food, he had come to agree, was perfectly harmless and rather enjoyable, and the same could be said of sleep. Money, although purportedly the root of all evil, was no such thing, and was, moreover a handy way of interacting with mortals. Possessions were perfectly fine, so long as one was prepared to lose them at a moment's notice - and if he had rather more books than the average collector, certainly keeping them all in a bookshop where a mortal might at any moment breeze in* and purchase them wasn't the same as actually _owning_ them all outright. Mirrors were a useful enough way of ensuring that one's hair was in place. A little bit of anger was occasionally warranted as a response to persistant customers or people who listened to walkmans on public transport.

Over the centuries Aziraphale's staunch avoidance of most of the sins had gradually crumbled, and although he was by no means a hardened sinner, nor was he the paragon of virtue he had originally been. Apart from anything else, their reciprocal Arrangement had required Aziraphale to tempt mortals as often as Crowley had performed blessings and miracles; and whilst Aziraphale was certainly not in Crowley's, or even Hastur's, league when it came to corrupting the innocent, nevertheless he had been engaging in thoroughly unangelic behaviour on and off for a good many years now.

It wasn't that Crowley was trying to tempt him, per se -- or, only in a general way. Not in a seriously-trying-to-get-him-in-trouble-with-the-Boss kind of way - because Crowley, when it came right down to it, was perfectly happy with the status quo, and certainly didn't want any new, gung-ho, by-the-book principality to be assigned in Aziraphale's place. Certainly not. But there was still something thoroughly irresistable about watching Aziraphale taste his first mouthful of unforbidden fruit, and watching him being gradually seduced - in a very prim and angelic fashion - by the printed page. Vanity, at least over his appearance, was not a problem for the angel; indeed, at times Crowley rather wished it were, because if he could only dress with a little more panache, and do something with his hair, he could really be quite something. Well, he already was something, of course - but. Well. Yes.

Demons were, after all, supposed to be fairly enthusiastic about embracing sins, so it wasn't precisely something to be embarassed about. Sloth. Anger. Vanity. Gluttony. Avarice -- well, avarice was rather pointless, since neither of them needed currency to have their whims fulfilled, but Crowley was a big fan of wanting things. Envy.

Lust.

And what could be more thoroughly wicked, when all was said and done, than harbouring lustful thoughts about an angel? Even if one more frequently felt an impulse to bash him over the head with a brick for having so irritatingly poor a grasp of the obvious, and for being so painfully oblivious to the passage of time during the Twentieth Century. Because Crowley had seen an awful lot of interesting things in his time, and done quite a number of interesting things too, and there were certain ideas that just couldn't quite be banished from his head.

* * * 

"It's -- slippery," he said at last.

"Yes."

Crowley watched Aziraphale delicately place another little pad of rice and fish onto his cautious tongue with rather more intensity than the event warranted.

"But -- not unpleasantly so."

"Mmm." A lock of hair, paler than cornsilk and innocent of bleach, fell over one of Aziraphale's eyes. Crowley exerted an effort of will and refrained from pushing it out of the way. "Have you tried the pickled ginger? It goes rather well -- no? Here."

"Mmm."

The slivers of fish were jewel-bright and almost translucent, and if they'd been any fresher they would still have been swimming. It was one of Crowley's favourite restaurants at the moment. There was a congenial pause, and Crowley reflected that it was a great pity, in some ways, that they weren't both mortal. He picked lazily at the array of sushi and sashimi he had selected, watching Aziraphale study each pristine little morsel and then lift them, one at a time, up to his waiting mouth. The soy sauce and the wasabi were both investigated, although Aziraphale, predictably, thought the wasabi a trifle too hot for his palate. Crowley watched the angel's pink tongue dart out to lick the corner of his mouth, and he thought a number of very bad things.

"More wine?"

"Well, I don't know that I ought - um. Yes. Yes please." Crowley smiled toothily, and refilled Aziraphale's glass. "Thank you." They both sipped at glasses of the surprisingly palatable Chardonnay, and to any casual observer there would have been no hint that they were, technically speaking, arch enemies. Possibly even nemeses. Technically speaking. "Well. Well, I have to say that this was really -- I mean, considering that it's raw fish - well. It's really jolly nice. Have you finished with the, ah, what were they -- um -- the Oklahoma rolls?"

"California rolls. And go ahead."

"If you're sure? Mmm? Thank you. Who would have thought they would be so nice?"

"You see, you need to trust me when I tell you you'll like something," said Crowley, as innocently as he could manage. Aziraphale beamed at him.

"You were certainly right about sushi. And chocolate. And that Caxton chap."

Crowley nodded. He wondered, idly, how many years it would take before he could persuade Aziraphale that eating sushi from a naked virgin was a good idea, and whether deflowering an angel would earn him a special place in Hell. And, if it did, whether that would be a good thing.

* * * 

*any mortal, that is, who was lucky enough to happen upon the shop during one of its erratic opening times, and who was prepared to brave the odd smells and the suddenly flickering lighting, and the ferocious glowering of the proprietor, and who happened to have precisely the right sum in change upon their person. And even then, more often than not, they found themselves hurrying back with shadows under their eyes and newly-aquired nervous twitches, eagerly returning the volume within a couple of days and telling the proprietor to keep the money, keep the book, they'd given up reading.

* * * 


End file.
